


The High Seas

by gaialux



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Light BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:48:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2854685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaialux/pseuds/gaialux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pirate Captain Alvarez meets Ryan O’Reily and soon takes him aboard the ship Esmeralda.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The High Seas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WarpedMinded](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WarpedMinded/gifts).



> WARNINGS: Hostage taking (may lead to the sex being read as dub-con, but there’s verbal consent), off-screen minor character death, off-screen violence, mild BDSM. And there’s also likely to be horrible historical accuracy and pirate stereotypes \o/.

They hadn’t touched port for months now. Battling storms and a particularly bad (if good could ever be used to describe such a thing) bout of food poisoning, they’d gone further north. Miguel had attempted to get them back on course --

“Aft!” he’d tried to call above the swelling waters and thunderous skies. “Where are ye trying to take us?”

\-- before simply deciding it was the last time he would leave Rodrigo in charge, and to take hold of what adventure could give them. Once they’d become re-oriented, Miguel learnt they were in the Celtic Sea.

An adventure indeed.

==

“We be close?” Miguel called to the lookout. He was hanging onto the crow’s nest with one hand while the other stayed wrapped around the spyglass they’d stolen not a year ago.

“ _Sí_ ,” he called back down and it could be just heard over the near-silence of the sea. Everything had finally slowed or stopped. Peace. It was a rarely reached ideal.

Miguel directed the crew to begin making preparations to dock. He himself went back to the wheel and judged how far away they might be from the patch of land in the horizon up ahead.

At the very least they might be able to restock. Miguel doubted the people were going to be prepared for any pirates to drop anchor nearby, so it would be simple.

Easy.

==

Stepping out on land was always more disorienting than being on deck. Miguel took cautious steps out onto the almost desolated port. There were only three other ships in sight, but none as grand as the Esmeralda. It was the one thing in his life Miguel could pride himself on.

“Tonight we drink,” he said to those managing to listen. The rest remained on the ship, offloading what was no longer needed and leaving it for the locals to deal with. He lowered his voice, “Tomorrow we pillage.”

==

The tavern was dark, dank, and exactly like Miguel wanted. When he and the crew stepped inside, silence was struck upon them. To be fair, most looked like agriculturists in after a day on the land; clothing sun-faded and worn. No visible weapons to speak of. Miguel re-positioned his coat to further cover the handle of his sword.

“Gin,” Miguel called to the wench collecting steins from one of the empty tables. He knew his English was sub-par, but she seemed to understand.

“Of course, sir,” she said in a thick Celtic accent and hurried off toward the shelves of liquor.

Miguel took the seat nearest the tavern door, one eye always on the escape. The chance of someone he knew walking in was slim, but he always had to be prepared. Torres had made a lot of enemies back when he was captain and now Miguel had to carry on the debt. It helped that his crew also kept their eyes toward him.

“Here you are.” She was back, placing her drink in front of him and smiled.

Miguel nodded back and took a mouthful -- glad to finally have something other than rum to burn down his throat and settle in his stomach.

Those around him soon began to leave as the remainder of the sun sank into the sea. They left empty steins and mugs littering the surfaces. Miguel stayed on his second, nursing wine this time. He’d be the one waking all the rest up in the morning; alerting them of when to steal and swap and swipe.

From the corner of his eye, Miguel was aware of someone else moving behind the bar. A man this time, with quick and sudden movements that almost looked like a dance. Miguel watched him flit in and out of view. Sometimes he was carrying something -- a barrel strung over his shoulder, mugs or glasses hanging from his fingers -- and sometimes just peeking his head out.

Not once did Miguel catch his gaze. Yet something about him still appeared familiar.

“Captain,” Guerra called from the other end of the tavern. He said something more, but Miguel couldn’t make it out from the general chatter elsewhere around him. Especially from Ricardo and Martinez who seemed to have decided it was high time for an on-land drinking game.

Miguel stood and took two steps forward before--

“Avast!”

He froze at the sound of the voice. Against his head was the sudden, unmistakable feel of a gun muzzle. Nobody in the tavern moved.

“Ho, look what we have here.”

Miguel recognised the voice, but couldn't place it to a face. When he tried to turn around, the gun was cocked.

“Careful.”

Slowly instead, Miguel turned. The gun stayed against his temple.

It was the same man from behind the bar, but up close Miguel managed to place him. One of the Irish captains. Miguel should have known at first glance.

"What you be doing here?" he asked. "Alvarez, ain't it?"

From the corner of his eye, Miguel could see Guerra and Vasquez draw their swords. In front of him, members of the Irish captain's (Miguel was still blanking on a name, searching through the recesses of his mind to place it) crew did the same.

"’tis," Miguel said. "And ye?"

"O’Reily.”

Ah. That placed something.

“Now,” O’Reily said. "Tell them to lower their weapons."

"You can't expect me to--"

O’Reily held the gun firmer against Miguel’s head. Vasquez and Martinez stepped closer. Like Miguel, they only had blades. Someone would die here if...

"Tell them to LOWER THEIR WEAPONS," O’Reily repeated.

Miguel swallowed. "Aye.” He turned to his crew and the flintlock against his head did not move. “Put them down."

The movements from those around them was hesitant. Really, who would dare stay off guard with another pirate crew -- one Miguel was suspecting they had come up against before -- so close? But he did, and O’Reily remarkably followed suit with his gun.

That was when Guerra jumped and twisted the flintlock from O’Reily’s grasp. Within a blink of Miguel’s eye, the gun was now pointed at O’Reily and everyone’s swords were back out.

“Captain,” Guerra said.

Miguel crossed the floor to stand by Guerra’s side. The gun hadn’t been aimed at anyone, but all of O’Reily’s crew had drawn their swords. One step forward and Miguel knew Guerra would be willing to fire. They’d killed too often for Miguel to believe otherwise.

But Miguel also knew it didn’t have to be all bad. A small smile came to his face.

“Now,” Miguel said. He reached out and Guerra handed him the gun. “Me crew were hoping to find a way to restock. Thank you for walking right in.”

O’Reily’s eyes were lethal. That was the only way Miguel could think to describe them. Shooting hate and poison right into Miguel’s very soul. That was where Miguel walked to first, slow and steady steps across the floor.

“How about you insist _your_ crew cooperate?” he asked of O’Reily.

O’Reily smirked, adding it as a juxtaposition to his still-mad eyes. “Then what? You kill them?”

Miguel forced O’Reily’s chin up with the muzzle of the gun. “Or I kill ye. Not sure how happy they would be without their captain.”

“I was a cook until me father decided to abandon ship,” O’Reily said. “Doubt they would care too much.”

Miguel matched his gaze. The crew could always do with more competent members. “That would work mighty well.”

“Will it now?”

“Dead men,” Miguel began. He looked directly at each member of his crew in turn. “Tell no tales.”

They all understood and surged forward. Miguel kept a tight grip on O’Reily.

==

Both of their shirts were flecked in the blood of those who had died today. Miguel couldn’t tell how O’Reily would react to that later on. He’d been stoic on land and onto the ship. Not that Miguel felt all that different; he still had those he needed, those he cared about.

“Are you going to run?” Miguel asked as he cornered O’Reily against the wall below deck.

“ _Aon_ ,” O’Reily said. That lethal gaze came to his eyes again before he added, “No.”

“ _Español o Inglés_ ,” Miguel said. He shoved O’Reily harder until his shoulder collided with the ship’s wood. “Ye understand that?”

“ _Sí_ ,.” The smile stayed firm, but his eyes took on a harder approach. Challenging, Miguel decided, and he was happy to play along.

“So I can let you out of these bounds?” Miguel kept one hand against O’Reily’s shoulder and the other trailed down to his wrists, tugging on the rope that had cut in and already left a thin layer of more blood.

O’Reily shifted against him before answering. “I’m sure you can do whatever you want, Captain.”

“You’re learning well I see.”

Miguel pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced it over the ropes. O’Reily didn’t move. _Good_. He pulled the binds away and dropped them to the floor. The marks on O’Reily’s wrists were more visible now, but they didn’t look too bad or like they would become infected. _Good_. Everything was good here.

Miguel twisted O’Reily back around to face him. “Now, O’Reily,” Miguel said. “You’re a cook, aye? So I expect ye to take on that job again.”

“What if I say no?”

Miguel took a step closer. Close enough now that he was looking up at O’Reily. “Then I’ll throw ye overboard.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Oh?”

It was as if O’Reily didn’t quite understand where he was right now, didn’t get that with a slash of Miguel’s sword he would cease to exist. “Aye,” Miguel said anyway.

“So I am yer wench?” O’Reily asked. His smile was blinding in the dark berth of the ship.

“Sure,” Miguel said. “If that title pleases ye.”

“I didn’t think you cared about what pleased _others_  -- not after the tavern.”

Miguel saw something flicker across O’Reily’s eyes. There was that slight, short pang of unmistakable _guilt_  Miguel thought he had buried down deep years ago. He swallowed and tried to keep it hidden away where it belonged.

“Do what you’re told and you can be part of the crew -- I care for my own.”

“Aye. I’m sure ye do.”

Usually with a hostage, Miguel could read them. He could figure out if -- and when -- they were planning to run, and act accordingly. He could shackle them or leave to assimilate or drag a knife across their skin until they agreed with everything Miguel had to say. He couldn’t see that in O’Reily, and he didn’t know why.

“How about Ryan?”

Miguel blinked. “What?”

“My name. If you don’t want wench and you think I should be a part of your crew -- less formal than O’Reily, _Miguel_.”

“How do you--?”

“The fierce pirate Captain Miguel Alvarez,” O’Reily -- Ryan? -- said. “Everybody knows you. Everybody knows _everything_ about you.”

That wasn’t true and Miguel knew it. The crew of Esmeralda managed to stay hidden more often that not. They were elusive, tough, fast. Miguel didn’t know exactly where O’Reily had found out his name, but he _did_ know it wasn’t common knowledge.

“Ryan,” Miguel said anyway, testing it out on his tongue. It was fitting, he decided, seemed to match those eyes and the smile that periodically lit up his face.

“Miguel,” Ryan said. He was challenging -- teasing -- again.

And Miguel had had enough of it.

He pressed Ryan up against the wood and slammed his mouth against Ryan’s. There was a second’s hesitation before Ryan lips fell pliant and Miguel could kiss him harder. He clenched his fingers into Ryan arms and dragged them together closer, closer.

Ryan pulled away. “So this was your plan?”

“No,” Miguel said, and he thought he was telling the truth. It hadn’t crossed his mind until but a second ago, at least not enough for him to think it would _actually_ happen.

He ran his hands up Ryan’s arms and pinned his wrists above his head. Ryan didn’t try and fight back. But he did lurch forward and take Miguel’s mouth again, teeth nipping against the lower lip and Miguel felt Ryan’s fists clench, unclench, clench again, but remain otherwise still.

“And this is what _you_ want?” Miguel asked when they broke apart again. At least maybe an answer could make him understand what the hell he was doing with this should-be hostage cook.

Ryan’s way of answer was another kiss, deeper than the last, and Miguel was happy enough to return with the same fervor. Ryan’s arms stayed pinned even when Miguel stepped closer and pressed his thigh against Ryan’s. Through his breeches he could feel heat of Ryan, the hardness of his growing cock.

“You do,” Miguel said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.” Ryan’s grin was back. “ _Captain_.”

One of Miguel’s hands stayed at both of Ryan’s wrists, the other snaking its way down and his fingers tracing the outline of Ryan’s cock. Ryan rocked against him and broke away from their kiss to make a strangled noise deep in his throat.

Miguel released Ryan’s hands and took a step back. Ryan’s gaze started at his face then trailed down, leaving Miguel feeling strangely vulnerable. He wasn’t used to that -- didn’t like it.

“Come on, then,” Miguel said and Ryan’s eyes snapped back up. He licked his lips and Miguel’s cock jerked in response.

When Ryan dropped to his knees it still came as a shock to Miguel. One minute standing in front of Miguel with that teasing gaze and the next tearing at his buttons and getting a hand inside.

Miguel bucked straight into him, Ryan’s hand hot against his aching cock, and feeling better than anything had in a long, long while. He didn’t fuck anyone in his crew -- a self-imposed rule he didn’t feel the need to act on anyway -- and trying to re-stock a fast dwindling ship didn’t leave much time for wooing women or even seeking out a local brothel.

Plus Ryan had the technique down perfectly.

Miguel found it impossible to suppress a moan even through his bitten-down lower lip. He twisted a hand into Ryan’s hair and closed his eyes tight, trying to hold in the little groans that kept rising in his throat and tripping out through his lips.

“Stop,” Miguel gasped out, and Ryan did. Placing an arm’s length distance between them as he still clung to Miguel’s thighs and he looked up at him through dark lashes. “Get up. Turn around.”

Ryan did just that. Bracing his arm against the ship’s wood and throwing a look over his shoulder that made Miguel’s blood boil in his veins. He was on Ryan lightning-quick, pressing his hard cock against the curve of Ryan’s ass.

“I am going to fuck you,” he said with no additional preamble. Hand back against the shape Ryan’s own cock and his knuckles scratching on the wood. He doubted there would be a protest -- he knew Ryan wanted this as much as Miguel did. Maybe even more, judging by the way he pressed back firmer against Miguel.

That was enough. Miguel worked a hand snapped free the buttons of Ryan’s breeches. He yanked down the fabric and followed with the front of his own, enough to free his cock and slide it along the crease of Miguel’s ass.

He ran his fingers further down, spreading pre-come. He could take Ryan back to his cabin, into his own hammock, and spend more time getting him ready. But he didn’t think he could last that long. Miguel pressed a finger into Ryan and received a grunt. Twisting it, he was met with Ryan rocking back against his hand. He added another.

“Come _on_ ,” Ryan said, voice sounding further strained than Miguel had heard all day.

He gave Ryan’s ass a swat before twisting a hand into his hair and leaning his mouth in close. “Remember who your captain is now.”

“T’is exactly what I’m doing.”

Miguel considered _showing_ Ryan just what that meant. But instead pulled his hand away and grasped the base of his own cock. He slowly pressed into Ryan as Ryan adjusted and braced himself further against the ship. It was easier than Miguel expected and soon he was fully inside, Ryan hot and tight around him.

He bit down against Ryan’s neck, potential talk be damned if he left a mark. The payback of Ryan spurring on his movements harder, faster, more than made up for any of that. Miguel’s hand found Ryan’s cock again, twisted just below the head, and Miguel caught the beginning of a moan before Ryan bit down onto his own arm.

“More,” Ryan said a moment later. “More.”

Miguel obliged. He thrust in harder and managed to pick up a rhythm. Ryan matching it beneath him. With his free hand, Miguel clutched Ryan’s shoulder and hoped for more marks; for the remembrance of cuts and blood and crescent nail shapes. The other continued along the length of Ryan’s cock.

Miguel thought he heard the muffled word of, “Captain” fall from Ryan’s mouth. Whether or not he imagined it, it was still enough. He fucked harder into Ryan and, when he came, it was Ryan’s name that echoed through the cabin. A few more tugs of Ryan’s cock and it was joined with the cry of “fuck” from Ryan himself.

They all but collapsed onto the ship’s floor. Miguel’s back pressed up against the wall and Ryan haphazardly against Miguel. Miguel would have to get up and go back out to the main deck soon, make sure they actually _were_ on the correct course this time. Though they had a cook now -- an additional bonus to everything.

“Ye can’t throw me overboard after that,” Ryan interrupted Miguel’s thoughts. His voice was caught, breathless.

Miguel hid his smile in Ryan’s hair. “Nay,” he said. “I suppose I cannot.”

 

~fin~


End file.
